


The list

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is acting strange. At least that's what John thinks. </p><p>Sherlock, on the other hand, thinks that he's being perfectly rational. </p><p>-------<br/>To sum it up: a very cute lovestory about two men and Sherlocks idea of flirting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The start

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of the Johnlock fanfiction I want to start and I hope you like it. Please consider that I am not a native speaker :)

Looking back, it all had started in September. It had been a unusually warm Friday afternoon and John had been looking forward to spending the whole evening on the couch, with the book he had picked up a day before and the bottle of red wine which he had initially bought for a date. (The woman had send him a text message, telling him she wasn’t going to attend, thank you very much).

But of course, John had no clue that, around a year later, he would consider this day as the start of something… strange.

Now, here he was, dressed in the most comfortable sweater he could find and his oldest pants. (He decided not to care about Sherlock’s ‘that’s not very elegant’ and ‘you do know that you look like that homeless guy we met during the last case, do you?')

It wasn’t hard to ignore Sherlock’s muttering, he was quite used to it by now.

However, it took him almost an hour to realize that the book couldn’t meet his expectations and John sighed annoyed.

And that was exactly when the strangest thing in the world happened

“Are you okay?”

At first, John didn’t even realize that it was Sherlock who asked. He even turned his head to see if Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or even Anderson had somehow entered the flat without him noticing.

“John”, Sherlock said and John knew that it was supposed to be a question, but the slightly annoyed tone and the stretched ‘o’ made it sound much more like him than what he had said before.

"Eh”, John made and blinked.

“I asked you if you are okay, due to the sound of dissatisfaction you made. Not to suck my penis.”

John gasped. And really, there wasn’t that much more that John did for the next few minutes. Sherlock just looked at him, frowning and a bit confused.

“Soo…..?”, Sherlock asked about a minute later and John was sure that his flatmate already regretted asking him in the first place, due to the gestures Sherlock made with his hand. He always did that sort of thing when he was bored to death or outraged by the dumbness of some people (it was mostly Anderson or random people they met on the street, not John).

"Eh.”

“Don’t people realize that they’re repeating theirselves? If not; you’re repeating yourself, John. That’s even worse than repeating what other people said. Actually, I think that repeating in general is very dumb. Wouldn’t it make much more sense to create something new? God, people are so boring John. So boring!”

John knew that Sherlock wasn’t _really_  asking him for his opinion so he interrupted his friend: “See, Sherlock. It may surprise you but I do realize that I’m repeating myself. But even you have to admit that this doesn’t happen on a daily basis. Actually, I don’t remember you asking me this ever! And we’ve been living together for more than 4 years now!”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes on that. John groaned.

"And in case you truly care about it; no, I’m not okay. How could I? I was supposed to be on a date this evening, instead I’m spending another night on the couch, all by myself. Other men my age are already married and about to become a father for the third time.”

“Well, you have me”, Sherlock said and with that he turned back to the human eyeball he was roasting over a candle.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, you have me._

Sherlock's words were still stuck in John's head when he went to bed this night to find some sleep. Or at least tried to. 

_Thank you very much, Sherlock_

What did his flatmate thought when saying this? Was he thinking about his words at all?

_It's Sherlock Holmes, this man isn't even able to do such a thing like 'not thinking'._

_You have me._ Was he talking about the 'I'm still not married to a loving woman' or the 'and I don't have kids either' part?

But Sherlock had made a point, hadn't he? John wasn't alone. He spend almost every day with Sherlock by his side, solving cases, risking his life, jumping into the Thames and preventing his best friend from doing stupid things, like doing drugs again or killing Anderson. 

But that didn't mean he wasn't lonely. Was he lonely?  
John wasn't sure. Most days he was totally fine with the way things were. But... 

John groaned and pulled his covers over his head. After hours of tossing and turning he must have fallen asleep. 

 

*****

The next days went by without something extraordinary to happen. Sherlock was his usual unfriendly and bored self and John spent his time by adding some new posts to his blog.   
Molly had called once to tell Sherlock that a burned body had just arrived and after that John hadn't seen him for a couple of hours.   
  


When the door suddenly burst open, John almost fell from his chair.   
"I should be used to this by now", he said to himself and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"John!", Sherlock shouted, his coat floating around his legs and the buttons of his silky shirt about to burst. 

"Mh?", John answered and tried to sound completely uninterested in whatever Sherlock was about to say. 

"JOHN!"  
"I'm right her, Sherlock! What is it that you want?"   
Sherlock's gaze met his and it seemed like he hadn't even realized that John had been in the same room.

Once again Sherlock reminded him of an alien that tried to understand the rules of the earthlings; he blinked a few times and coughed eventually. 

"Yes. Right. Lestrade called me. There is a murder in China Town, seems like someone got killed with chobsticks." His eyes were sparkling like a 7 years old seeing the christmas lights for the first time. 

"That sounds horrible!", John said and knew exactly what would follow. 

"Horrible? John! We finally got a code red murder! Chopsticks! That's considered cooking utensils and these are number 4 of my favourite murder weapons! This will be better than the whisk-murderer we had last month." 

"If you say so", John sighed and turned back to his laptop. 

He only noticed that Sherlock was suddenly standing in front of him when he took away his computer. 

John winced when the detective's head appeared right before him.   
"So, what do you think?", Sherlock sounded just as excited and impatient as he looked, with his huge eyes and slightly trembling lips. 

"I don't get it."

"You don't get what...", Sherlock's lips formed a thin line. 

"What you want. What do you need?"  
  
"Why should I need something from you?", Sherlock's confusion was almost funny.

"That's the point. Tell me."

"I asked you what you think. Wether we should go there or not."

"Go there or... Sherlock, I.. Why shouldn't you go there?" 

Sherlock rested his head in his hands and mumbled something that sounded like "should be easier" but it was too quiet for John to catch the whole sentence. 

"Because, well, maybe you don't feel like going outside?" 

_He's lost his mind. He has completely and undeniably lost his beautiful mind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave feedback :)


	3. Chapter 3

15 minutes later, they arrived at the crime scene after Sherlock had scared the hell out of their cabbie driver by telling him the exact date of his death.

Sherlock had stopped immediately after John had hit him with his umbrella.

Not without going on and on about how the truth was the only way to freedom of mind, though.

John had rolled his eyes so hard that he could almost see his own brain, Sherlock had snored at that, although he had not been able to hide his smile.

He had covered his mouth with his hands but the crinkles around his eyes were proof enough to John.

He couldn't help thinking of it as adorable.

Lestrade was already waiting for them, arms crossed and his favourite cup of coffee in his hand. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and John didn't need Sherlocks 'this is going to be SO exciting' to conclude that the police didn't find anything usefull yet.

"Morning", Lestrade hissed and sighed apologetically right after.

"Actually, it's past lunch time. Considering this,  _good afternoon_ is much more appropriate." 

"Forgive him. In fact, he's very thankful as he has been bored all week", John said and Sherlock pulled a face behind his back. 

"Did he shoot at the wall again?"

"No. Well. I haven't checked", John turned around to look at Sherlock who stared at him with his so typical 'oh come on John' look on his face. 

He was about to respond when Sally and Anderson stepped out of the little china restaurant right next to something that looked like an exotic sex shop to John. 

The moment Sherlock caught sight of them, his body seemed to stiffen and he clenched his teeth.

"Are you alright?"

John wasn't surprised when Sherlock ignored his question and turned to Lestrade instead.

"Georg, -"

"Greg, Sherlock", Lestrade corrected him.

"Yes. You told me that there would be no unprofessionals around."

"They WORK here. What do you expect me to do? Fire them?", Lestrade laughed and sounded a little bit desperate. 

Sherlock didn't move a muscle: "I was going to propose just that."

"Sherlock, ignore them and come inside. Chopsticks, remember?", John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and tried to hold his gaze.

The detective didn't answer but followed John without another word inside the bistro. 

"I still can't believe Lestrade is asking for the freaks help again", Sally said when they walked past her, looking more than pleased when John let out a frustrated groan. 

"Yes, because me and my John are apparently better at your job than you are. And by the way: I told you that a cheap bed wouldn't work for your  _activities_ as Sally likes it  _wild and dirty."_

Anderson shut his mouth immediately and a smug smile appeared on his face. Sherlock hurried and made his way towards the kitchens.

John waited until the door closed behind them to put on a serious look and confront Sherlock: "Look, I've told you about a thousand times that I don't like it when you put 'my' in front of your designations for me.  _My_ blogger,  _my_ assistant,  _my_ doctor."

"And what exactly don't like about it?", there was nothing but confusion in the detective's eyes and Sherlock's intense stare sent shivers running down John's spine.

"It makes me feel like you believe I belong to you. Like a dog or something."

More confusion was added to Sherlock's facial expression.

"Don't you?"

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to heat up between Sherlock and his favourite doctor...

"Do you smell that?", Sherlock asked and lowered his nose like a sniffing dog, looking for the scent of a criminal.

"Do I smell _what_ , Sherlock. Seriously, can't you just say what you mean right away?", John answered, getting more annoyed with every second that passed by.

"There is absolutely no reason for you to be in such a bad mood, John. Now, would you just use your sense of smell and do me the favour of acting like a grown up? If not, go and join Sally and Anderson, they might even tell you that her period is late again if you only ask nicely. I came here to have a nice evening, so please, tell me what you smell."

"A-acting like g-grown-u... Damn it, Sherlock!"

John made a step towards the detective and had to stand on his tiptoes to make proper eye contact. He was almost sure that there was smoke coming out of his ears because of all the anger that seethed inside of him.

"Sherlock Holmes, you might be the only consulting detective world wide, with a brilliant mind on top, but let me tell you one thing; and listen carefully because I'm not going to say this again. I will not, let me repeat it; not tolerate this behavior of yours any longer." John took a deep breath and held it for a moment to underline the gravity of his words. While doing so, he kept an eye on Sherlock's facial expression, hoping to find something that would tell him, that the detective understood what he was trying to say. But reading Sherlocks face was like trying to explain human emotions to him; impossible.

"For God's sake, Sherlock! I'm only trying to help you with Sally and Anderson and all these other cops that are only too keen on watching you finally loose your temper. I'm trying to protect you and still, here we are and you're constantly insulting me."

"Are you finished with your little speech?", His best friend asked and there was something to his voice that John couldn't quite define. Without waiting for an answer Sherlock hurried up the few stairs that were leading into the kitchen of the small bistro and John could do nothing but follow him.

Not without hexing the detective into next week, of course.

The closer he came to the place where the corpse had been found, the more he understood why Sherlock had wanted to hear his opinion on the smell that was so present that John felt like he was going to throw up.

He had seen - or even more important - smelled bodies which had been lying in the desert for weeks or floating in water for half a decade but nothing he had ever experienced could meet up with the scent of a rotting body combined with chinese specialities.

"I will never be able to eat spring rolls ever again in my life", John groaned and fought against the urge to vomit.

"You don't even like them anyway", Sherlock told him while kneeling down next to something that used to be the head of the kitchen chef.

"This is not true. Now and then I truly enjoy my spring rolls", John said through clenched teeth but couldn't resist getting a closer look at the detached head.

"489", Sherlock simply said and started pulling a chopstick out of the victim's ear.

"489 _what_ ", John asked and was close to rolling his eyes at his best friend again. 

"489 days since you last ate spring rolls. So don't tell me that you truly like them." 

"oh, and how can you tell that I didn't buy any spring rolls when you weren't around?"

  
"Come on, John. You wouldn't do such a thing", Sherlock said like it was the only logical conclusion, but there was something in his gaze that John interpreted as insecurity. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, so he wasn't that sure of it anymore.

  
"Ah, yes, and, tell me, why exactly wouldn't I do such a thing?"

  
"Well, chinese take away has always been _our_ thing, hasn't it?"

The insecurity was all over his face now.

John almost wanted to slap him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's keeping me busy af, but at least exam period is over now, which means that I might have more time to keep this story going.  
> Please give me some feedback and don't forget to leave kudos. It means the world to me!


	5. Chapter 5

Something on John's insides began to flutter.

_Our thing._

A few seconds ago John had been about to hit his friend right in the face but now was just standing there, frozen, with a deep warmth spreading in his stomach.

"Yes, you git. You haven't taken me out in a while, though", he murmured, focusing on the way Sherlock's eyes lit up for a second or two. 

"Why should _I_ take you out? You're perfectly able to afford dinner on your own", the detective answered. The urge to hit him was back again.

then, on the other hand, John was afraid he'd get hurt by the sharpness of those utterly ridiculous cheekbones, in this utterly ridiculous face with those totally strange eyes of a cat and a jawline so strong some would probably kill for and.... what had Sherlock just said?

"... love", was the only word he caught. 

"What?"

The detective rolled his eyes. 

"Whatever woman it is you're thinking about, please do it quiet."

"W-why should I be thinking about a woman?", John asked confused and quickly added "did I say something?"

"See? So you have been thinking about a woman. You've got that look again."

"What _look?!"_ , John felt something rise in his chest which he identified as panic. And anger. Definitely anger. 

_Why does Sherlock always believe he is allowed to enter my freaking mind like that?_

"Actually, I have _not_ been thinking about a woman!"

"If you say so... Your pupils tell me other wise", he had that tone in his voice which always declared a discussion as finished, "what I was saying while you were fantasizing about that BBC reporter is, that the motive of the murder has definitely been love."

"damn it, Sherlock, I'm not fantasizing about that woman!"

Well, now he was. His mind wandered back to pretty that woman he had admired since he first saw her on TV. She had nice hair, yes, John really appreciated nice hair. Hers had the colour of honey, falling down her spine in soft waves if she didn't wear it in a bun. 

She had nice eyes, too. Bright, sparkling, friendly and warm in a way that never failed to make John smile. 

But right now, he found himself staring into another pair of bright, sparkling, not so friendly, neither warm, eyes.

And he wouldn't trade them for the world. 

"Love, you say? A detached head, garnished with chopsticks isn't exactly my idea of _love."_

"Yes, I thought so. There is no need for you to understand this romantic ritual."

"R-Romantic? You're telling me that this", he raised a finger and pointed at the head, "is your idea of romantic? Shouldn't even wonder, I guess."

  
"There is no such thing as the 'idea of romantic'. What people consider romantic always depends on their subjective perspective. Throwing stones at somebody's window while they're sleeping? Definitely not romantic, but utterly disturbing. Yet, many women seem to wait their whole life time to experience this."

  
John couldn't help but smile at Sherlock.

  
"What's so funny?", the detective asked and studied his doctors facial expression.  
"Nothing. Just the very idea of you doing something romantic for another person."  
Sherlock's head shot up: "What's about it?"  
"It doesn't fit", John simply said and laughed. Sherlock didn't.

In fact, he didn't talk to John for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think about it?  
> Please leave Kudos :)


	6. Chapter 6

The next week went by without anything unusual to happen. If you didn't count in the chopstick-man's head (that's what John had started to call him) in their fridge, the most probably human liver in their bathtub and smell of burning flesh, which had made it's way from the kitchen all the way up to John's bedroom, of course.   
He spent most of his time at the clinic, looking after his patients who seemed to become more annoying with everyday that passed by.

This boredom was also probably the reason why he felt his pulse quicken when he left the clinic on a friday afternoon and his phone beeped in his pocket, with that tone he had saved for Sherlock.

**Female body found in china town. Likely related to chopstick murder. Meet me there. - SH**

A link to a map which would guide John was attached. After this week of sleeping - eating - work - sleeping - eating - work, he felt adrenaline rush through his veins at the thought of finally being out again.

\-----

When he arrived at the crime scene 17 minutes later, Sherlock was already there, inspecting the hand of a young, asian woman.

  
"John!", he heard Lestrade call him who came towards him and handed him a pack of cigarettes.   
John stared at him in confusion: "I'm a doctor, Greg. I do not smoke."  
Lestrade smirked while John shoved the cigarettes in the pocket of his coat.   
"I am aware of it. They're not for you anyway. They're Sherlock's. Just thought that you should have a word with him, y'know? That man is extreme in every aspect of his life and we both know how it ended last time. Can't risk my job again for him."  
John nodded understanding and watched Sherlock from afar.   
"To be honest, I thought that this time he was really going to make it", he sighed and shook his head, "I'll have a word with him."

  
Lestrade shoot him a last grateful look and went back to whatever he had done before John arrived. He didn't really care about it anyway, he was far more interested in why Sherlock had felt the urge to fall back into old habits.  
He ducked under the caution tape and made his way towards Sherlock and the dead body.  
Sherlock's eyes shot up the moment John kneeled down beside him. His bright eyes were scanning John's face so fast, he felt like he got dizzy while trying to keep up with them.

  
"You're late", Sherlock said and there was a cold to his voice that puzzled John.  
"I hurried", he answered and checked Sherlock for any signs of expanded drug use.  
"I didn't", Sherlock said immediately, his eyes never leaving John's face.  
"That's... good", John sighed and pulled out the cigarettes Lestrade had given to him, "but you started smoking again."  
"Yes, and I want you to give me one", he held out a hand and John couldn't help laughing out loud.  
"You're not serious, are you? You would have to get me overly drunk to make me agree with any of your addictions."  
"In fact, I already considered this. But you wouldn't give me my cigarettes back, anyway", a smile started to spread on the detective's face.  
"Ah, and why is that so?"

Sherlock huffed, shrugged and said "Because you're my John" like it was the only logical answer to everything.

  
John swallowed. Hard.

  
"So. What can you tell me about that woman?", he asked husky and hoped that Sherlock would not notice that he totally took him off balance.   
Sherlock's eyes lit up and John was glad he got him too busy to notice the blush that was creeping up on him. Hopefully.  
"Obviously, she is asian. Owns an english passport, though. Considering that her body was found in chinatown and that she's been killed right here, I'll say she's chinese. Definitely not born in the UK. As far as I can tell she hasn't been living here for more than 3 month. Lestrade is still checking her ID, we'll have those questions answered in about 10 minutes anyway."  
"Why do you think she just arrived from China?", John frowned.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes at him: "Her phone, John. English isn't one of the set languages. That's why she cannot be living here for that long. In addition to that there isn't one english name to be found in her contacts. Seems like she didn't find any new friends here, yet. Conclusion; hasn't lived here for more than three month."  
"She could've been shy?"  
"Yes, of course she was. But not even one? Highly unlikely."  
"If you say so... She was married, wasn't she?", John took a closer look at her ring finger, were a small tan line could be seen.  
Sherlock's eyes lit up again, in that way they always did when John deduced something right on his own.  
"Ah, now I get why you insist on your 3 month mark. She hardly got that tan while she's been in London. There has been nearly no sun for month."   
Sherlock bit his lip to prevent a smile and the burning in John's stomach grew stronger than ever.   
The detective turned away, but not fast enough to hide the pleased expression that spread all over his face.

"I'll have to check something. I need you to hold it for me."  
Before John could ask what for _God's sake_ he should hold, Sherlock had slipped out of his coat and handed it over to John.

The coat fell to the ground.

"John!", Sherlock snapped a finger right in front of John's eyes, which - by the way - were about to pop out of his head.

"What is THAT?", he almost screamed and stared at Sherlock's sweater.

"What is - oh? You like it?", that bastard grinned. He fucking grinned.

"Of course I like it! I-It's my damn sweater! You know, the colour, the pattern, I - why are you wearing _my_ sweater?!"

The detective shrugged: "Don't people do these things?"

"What? Why?"

"Do you think it suits me?", Sherlock looked down to look at himself, his curls falling into his face.

Yes. To John's surprise, yes he did.

It was way too short, though. In a way, the yellow colour made a nice contrast to the brown of his hair and his skin colour. He had never seen Sherlock wear something yellow, John guessed.

And still, he made an utterly ridiculous appearance. In this sweater that barely covered his belly button. John could even catch a glimpse of light skin between where the sweater ended and his suit trousers began.

His sweater. Sherlock was wearing _his_ sweater. And John liked it.

He was _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always very insecure about my work, so, please leave kudos and give me some feedback :)


	7. Chapter 7

"She's been married to that man who was murdered last week", Sherlock stated and turned away from John eventually, which finally allowed him to take a deep breath.

"The chopstick-man?", he asked curiously and tried to find what had told Sherlock this fact.

Obviously, Sherlock noticed his efforts and chuckled: "She had a picture of the both of them in her purse."

"You don't have to be married to someone to carry their picture with you, Sherlock. I have a picture of us in my purse, too", John responded and felt a blush appearing on his cheeks as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"You do?", Sherlock's eyes narrowed and scanned John's face again, searching for something John didn't understand.

"Yeah, that's what friends do", he tried his best to keep a neutral face.

Because, _seriously,_ what was going on? He wasn't into Sher- No. John Watson was into women. Like that BBC reporter. That one with the nice curls. And bright eyes. And full lips. And slim, yet fit, body. High cheekbones and that deep, smooth voice of hers.

_Wait, that's not her, that's Sh- DAMN IT._

John wanted to slap himself. And Sherlock, of course. 

Sherlock coughed awkwardly and snapped John out of his thoughts. God, how long had he been staring at his friend without realizing it?

"Can I see it?", Sherlock asked, eyebrows raised..

He murmered something that sounded like "compare evidence" or something, but John wasn't really listening. He was more busy trying to calm down his heartbeat. His fingers were slightly shaking, so it took him two attemps to fiddle the picture out of his purse.

It showed Sherlock and him on christmas. Sherlock holding the test tubes which John had got him and John holding - well - nothing, because Sherlock Holmes wasn't one to buy presents for a holiday that was _all about consume and fake affection for people you haven't talked to in ages._

But it had been okay, because Sherlock had told John that he was the only one that got him a present which wasn't _boring, soppy, chocolate or an umbrella with the senders face on it (_ Mycroft, obviously).

And he had smiled at him and Sherlock had smiled back, that honest, warm smile he saved for moments like this, and John had decided that christmas would be his favourite holiday of the year from now on.

"Oh. That's nice", Sherlock said as soon as John had handed him the small picture taken by Mrs Hudson.

This time, it was John studying Sherlock's face and catching the small smile that spread on his lips for a second.

"Yes, thought so. That's why I kept it."

"It's a picture from the day of their wedding", Sherlock's eyes wandered back to the dead body next to them.

John chuckled: "I see. Definetely married then."

Sherlock simply nodded and what followed was an uncomfortable silence until Lestrade appeared to tell them what the ID check had revealed.  
Sherlock had been right, of course.

"We're going home, John", the detective announced and started walking away without even waiting for John's response. That was nothing new, though, so John simply hurried after Sherlock and was out of breath when he caught up with him.

On their ride back to Baker Street, John stared out of the window of their cabbie and thought about the last weeks.

Sherlock was acting strange, although John couldn't quite figure out in which way. But whatever it was, it got John into deep trouble.

_Had he been doing drugs again? No, he said he didn't._

And yet, Sherlock had to be up to something, that was for sure. 

_You're a doctor, you would've noticed immediatly._

But John knew that this wasn't true. He had failed to see it before, he would fail to see it again. 

He hadn't found an answer to his questions when they arrived at 221b and John could so nothing but hope that Sherlock would tell him when he needed his help.

"Are you hungry?", Sherlock asked as soon as John had settled down in his favourite armchair, ready to spend another evening with another book he had picked up.

"Uh. Yes, I guess. I'll order something for us. What do you want?"

Sherlock started to blush - literally _blush_ \- and John couldn't help but think of it as adorable.

"Actually, I - um", he made his way into their kitchen and John caught side of several bags standing on the kitchen table, "I wanted to cook something. For us, I mean."

"Wait a second, I have to save this moment in case someone asks me about it later. You, S _herlock Holmes,_ wants to cook something? Like, not any human organs or toenails, but a real meal?", John was completely taken aback.

"I thought of pasta."

"YY-you've never cooked before. Is this an experiment?", John asked interested and Sherlock started to laugh nervously.

"You could call it that, yes."

"Fine. Cook whatever you want, I'll enjoy it", John smiled at Sherlock who smiled back.

Now, John was sure that Sherlock had done something that would displease him and this was his way of apologizing in advance, but this gift was also the kind of horse that John didn't want to look in its mouth for too long.

"It can't be any more difficult than heating toenails, can it?"

"Don't _ever_ mention that experiment of yours ever again when you're trying to make me like the food you made. Not very appealing", John shuddered at the very thought of it.

Sherlock started to laugh, honest and warm, and after a few seconds John joined in and they laughed until their rib cages hurt and John had to hit Sherlock on the back because he had swallowed air and _damn it,_ John was even more fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said it like a thousand times but please comment ^_^


	8. Chapter 8

"You've done that before", was the only thing John said when Sherlock placed his plate in front of him.

"Obviously", the detective said and slid on his own seat right across from John and picked up his fork.

"Yet, you've never made any attempts to cook for us before."

"You're stating the obvious, John. Don't be dull. Do you like it?"

Sherlock stared at him and John knew that his flatmate was _reading_ him, studying the white of his teeth, his nose, his ears or whatever it usally was that told Sherlock all these things.

"I haven't tried it yet."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him: "Obviously."

John grinned: "You're using that word way too much. Don't be dull."

"Which word?", the detective frowned in confusion.

"Are you serious? It's so _obvious._ "

"What's obvious?"

The doctor couldn't help sighing: "Forget it."

"I don't."

"You don't do _what?"_

"Forgetting."

"Yes, I know. You're _deleting_."

"Very well", Sherlock smiled content, "I won't _delete_ it, though."

John just raised his eyebrows questioningly. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. 

He decided not to question his friend's intentions too much and picked up some of the pasta which looked like it had been decorated by one of London's star chefs. He had expected that Sherlock would fail desperately at trying to cook pasta, like he failed at so many things that were daily to other people. 

His mind wandered back to that one time when Sherlock had decided to do the grocery shopping on his own (John still thought it had been some sort of social experiment, because _really_ ) and the doctor had sent his flatmate about a dozen text messages when he hadn't been home three hours later. Eventually, Sherlock had burst through the door, bringing _every_ sort of water that had been available.  
"John. JOHN!", he had said, "have you ever been to a grocery shop, John? The amount of offer is ridiculous. No one needs fifteen different brands of water."  
"That's why you bought all of them? To make a point?", John had asked.  
"What?", Sherlock had looked at him like he was completely out of his mind, "no! I didn't remember which sort you usually prefer. I went through every drawer in my mind palace but I found nothing. Absolutely nothing. Can you believe that, John?"  
It had been indeed very hard to believe.  
"Um, I don't have a favourite, Sherlock. Not everyone does."  
"Oh. Well, I have one."  
"Did you bring it?"  
"No. Why should I? You were the one saying that we need water. Not me."  
John had laughed.  
"Then bring your favourite next time, Sherlock. I'm sure I won't mind."  
Sherlock snored: "Yes, as if there'd be a _next time_. Seriously John, don't you ever listen to me?"

John was snapped out of his thoughts the moment his tongue made contact with the pasta and a moan of pleasure escaped his lips.  
"God, Sherlock. That's fantastic!"  
He only realized that he must have closed his eyes when they fluttered open and his gaze locked with Sherlock's.  
Suddenly, his mouth went dry.  
"It was very nice of you to do this. I'd appreciate it more often."  
Sherlock chuckled and rested his chin on the knuckles of his hands.  
"I'm serious. When did you learn to cook like that?"  
The detective ran a hand through his messy curls and as a result one of them sticked out in an awkward angle.  
John felt the urge to reach out a hand and shove it behind Sherlock's ear.  
_No no no no no._  
"I told you that it can't be that different from my other experiments. It's only pasta after all."  
"So it is _in fact_ an experiment. Can you tell me what it is about?"  
"No", Sherlock snapped as soon as the words had left John's mouth.  
"Oh. Okay. How is it going, then? It's a social one, isn't it? Like that time you tried out diverse social activities, like shopping, the cinema and taking the train at prime times?"

Sherlock simply ignored his last question and tilted his head: "Actually, I haven't been able to collect enough data yet, to deduce how it is going."

John was only fixed on the way Sherlock's lips looked full, soft and _so damn kissable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me feedback in the comments. And I'm still wondering when's the best time to upload new chapters, so please tell me when you're usually reading fanfiction.  
> If you're not from europe, please add your county (different time zones)


	9. Chapter 9

After a few days of work and Sherlock being out all day, doing whatever it was he usually did when John wasn't with him, John started to suspect that Sherlock had ended his experiment.  
Not having a clue what it was about, though.   
And the fact that he started to miss this _experiment_ also began to worry him. Yes, Sherlock had been overly _affectionate_ , in his own way of course.   
But it hadn't meant anything, had it?  
John was only too keen to ask Sherlock what this experiment had been about. How useful John was as an assistant? How being friendly made him more productive? Maybe it hadn't been about John at all? But about middle aged men in general?

He needed something that would distract him, therefore he appreciated it when Sarah asked him out to go to the cinema with her.  
He could only hope that she didn't actually want to go on a date with him. Not that he didn't like her enough to give it a try but... well, John did not want to think about it.  
But there was no need to be Sherlock to catch the hopeful glimpse in her eyes once he had said yes.  
On the other hand, maybe this could be the chance to finally get rid of whatever it was that started to form in his chest whenever Sherlock was around, doing that stupid experiment of his.  
Sarah was a nice girl, she was intelligent and had a gentle laugh and although their first date had been a disaster, he considered her a good friend.   
He began to actually look forward to their platonic date and even caught himself dressing up.

When he left the flat it was already dark outside, the cold air making him shiver slightly and he wrapped his coat tighter around him.  
The tube was as crowded as ever and John watched all these strangers passing by, getting lost in the mass of people. And yes, it really felt nice to go out again, to do something on his own. Just a normal man watching a movie with a normal woman. No skulls, no feet in the fridge, no nails in his cup.  
When he arrived at the cinema he bought the tickets and waited for Sarah to arrive.

After good 10 minutes he felt fingers brush over the exposed skin of his shoulder, he spun around and put up a smile, expecting Sarah.  
But the person standing in front of him definitely wasn't her.

  
It was a man, tall, cheekbones, curls and stuff.

  
His jaw dropped.

  
"Good evening", the person said and flashed a smile at John.  
"What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Sherlock?"

  
"Oh, yes. Didn't I tell you?"  
"Tell me what?", John hissed, ready to hit Sherlock right in the face.  
"Sarah called. This morning. I deleted what she said but she won't be able to attend, so I thought I'd join you", he said it calm, eyes fixed on John and, for real, John already felt his fist twisting.

  
"No way. We're not doing this. You... No, Sherlock."  
"But-."  
"Absolutely not. Whatever you're about to say; save it", he couldn't hide his disappointment and surely Sherlock didn't miss it either.

  
"Oh, _interesting_. So you wanted this to be a date, although you told yourself you didn't. Yes", the detective tilted his head, "the jumper, the laces, it's obvious. You even put on some perfume."

  
"It's no - Damn it, Sherlock. I won't let this evening be ruined by you, just because you have no idea of social rules", John hissed harshly and walked towards the entrance.  
"I'm going to watch this movie on my own."  
"It's total crap anyway", Sherlock snapped but caught up with the doctor.   
John groaned.

_This man will be the end of me._

  
"Since you're already here; feel free to join me. But you'll shut up and let me watch this without telling me about the _actors_  - not characters - relations. And if you'll start yelling what will happen within the next minutes and we get tossed out _again_ , you'll go grocery shopping for a month. Did you understand me?"

  
John narrowed his eyes and tried to put on his best army-look.   
Sherlock blinked.  
"John, please-."  
"Oh, don't you dare "John, please" me, Sherlock", he got on his tiptoes and stared right into his friend's eyes, breathing heavily, "did you _understand me_?"  
"Yes, I-"  
"Shut it."

  
John felt utterly pleased when Sherlock actually closed his mouth and sighed.

  
"Do you want to eat anything? I'm paying", the detective said after they'd been staring at each other for a few moments.  
"You're paying? You never pay."  
"Obviously."  
"Why now?"

  
Sherlock nervously ( _nervously !_ ?) wet his lips and his cheeks turned a light shade of pink: "Well, you wanted this evening to be a date, so I'm trying my best."

John stopped breathing.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like the next chapter to be from Sherlock's POV?

"A.. Date", John repeated, slowly, not actually sure if he could trust his ears any longer.  
"Yes, you wanted to go on a date with Sarah. A date is a social meeting planned before it happens, especially one between two people who have or might have a romantic relationship. Usually it's in the eve-.."  
"I know what a date is, thank you very much."  
"Fantastic", Sherlock flashed a smile, "social activities are sometimes very interesting. Although it is very rare since they're dull most of the time."   
"Sher-"  
"There is popcorn, John. You know popcorn? Any of several varieties of corn whose kernels burst open and puff out when subjected to dry heat? Popping corn? I've just realized how funny that word is. P o p c o r n. Hah", Sherlock laughed nervously.  
John sighed and tried to rub away the blush on his own cheeks with his fingers.  
"Yes, I'd like some popcorn. Funny word, indeed."  
The detective appeared to be very pleased with himself and John jumped when he felt fingers settle on the small of his back, guiding him towards the counter.   
His heartbeat was nearly twice as fast as it normally was.  
John tried not to think about it.

\-----

15 minutes later they actually entered the movie theater and John had to fumble the tickets out of his pocket to look for their seats. The moment his eyes scanned the small piece of paper, his mouth went dry and he felt his whole body starting to tingle.  
 _FUCK_.  
"Sherlock, there is something I've got to tell you about our seats, it's a -.."  
"Loveseat", Sherlock finished his sentence, staring down at seat number 9 and 10.  
"Yeah", John croaked and didn't know where to look.  
Sherlock's face was calm, content even.

_Fuck this experiment, fuck this movie, fuck Mike Stamford and fuck the universe._

Sherlock experimenting on John's productivity as an assistant (John decided that this was what all this had to be about) would be the end of him. The detective probably had no clue what his sudden gentleness and affection did to John, how could he, anyway? Sherlock wasn't like normal people, he didn't feel like other people did. And John knew that relationships weren't Sherlock's area.

The detective flopped down on his seat and pulled out his disinfectant spray to clean the armrest, like he always did. When he was finished he eyed the doctor who was still standing in front of Sherlock, unsure of what to do with his hands.  
God, what did he normally do with his hands? Shove them into the pockets of his jeans? Fold them behind his back? Run them through those defined curls and wander along these cheekbones? John did not remember.

"Sit down, John. You're blocking my view."  
"Right."  
He seated himself next to Sherlock, trying carefully not to touch Sherlock's legs with his knee.  
His best friend stared at him, John could see it from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze fixed on the screen which already showed the first scenes of the movie.   
Sherlock handed him the popcorn. Their only interaction for the next 30 minutes.

Then John's world turned upside down and suddenly knew that there was no going back. Never had been, never would be.

He had felt something warm touch his arm and when he looked down he saw brown curls, whose owner snuggled his head to John's chest and the doctor stopped breathing. And most probably also existing.   
Sherlock reached out a hand to rearrange John's arm around his shoulders and John thought that he would not have to read about near death experiences any longer.   
Sherlock's body was pressed to his, warm and solid and comfortable in a way John wouldn't have thought possible since he was all sharp angles and stuff.

He exhaled audibly and the detective instantly stiffened.

_This is not real._

But it was, John realized, and he rested his chin on top of Sherlock's head who sighed contently and flung an arm around John's waist.

John decided to like Sherlock's experiment from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like the next chapter to be from Sherlock's POV?


	11. Chapter 11

**Purpose** _(This is a formal statement which encompasses your hypothesis. It is a statement of what question you are trying to answer and what hypothesis you wish to test.)_  
Secret.

 **Materials** _(List all major items needed to carry out your experiment)_

Me (Sherlock Holmes) and John Hamish Watson, obviously.

 **Methods** _(How will you set up your experiment? How long will the experiment last? )_

Working off the list. Will last until mission is fullfilled.

 **Collected Data** :

\- Test subject (John) is stressed when he comes home from work. Asking about his feelings does not cheer him up in the way it was intended (actually, it seems to confuse him).  
\- Test subjects needs longer in the bathroom since I started this experiment. Seems to have to do with his hair, yet not 100% sure.  
In addition to that the subject starts to resemble Anderson when I hold the eye contact longer than it is socially acceptable.

  
\- His mood changes fast lately, which reminds me of a pregnant woman. Pregnancy isn't a variable I am taking into consideration, though (but there have been some cases like that, maybe I shouldn't delete it yet).

  
\- Apparently, the test subject (John) does not like me using possessive pronouns when it comes to himself. Could not figure out wether it is about possessive pronouns in general or if he does not want to belong to me.

  
\- Test subject informed me that I would not do anything romantic for another person. Strangely, my chest area itched for about an hour after that. Should go see a doctor to get myself checked.

\- Subject seems to start fantasizing about women again, which wasn't exactly planned.  
Same test subject keeps a picture of John and me in his purse. Chest itched again.  
Moreover he seemed to like me wearing his ridiculous sweater. Pupils were dilated and his pulse quickened. Was not able to deduce whether John is attracted to his sweater. But since he never leaves them on his floor and constantly complains whenever my clothes lay around in our flat, it is likely that this is a case of objectophilia.

\- Test subject thought I did drugs again. Seemed to cause him pain. I called Mycroft to pick out a doctor to check out my heart area.  
\- Subject reacted positively on the cooking concept. Might have to do it more often now, since I had to give away that I am actually capable of making a meal. Don't have a problem with that.  
\- Test subject has figured out that I am experimenting on him which could cause trouble, sooner or later. Don't think that he knows about my intentions, though.

\- Experiment seems to have positive effects on the subject (John); haven't heard him scream my name or one of his army friends in his sleep for a week now.

\- Made a mistake. Turned out that John is actually not attracted to clothes. He's attracted to Sarah.

\- Made another mistake (seriously, two mistakes in only two days?). Test subject is not attracted to Sarah. The itching in my chest stopped.

\----

Sherlocks POV

 

Sherlock scanned his experiment protocol and was about to add the events of the last evening when John entered the room and the detective was so shocked to see his doctor that he hit his head on the edge of his bed and his pen fell to floor.

"I did not mean to scare you", John said quietly and Sherlock did not have to look up to know that his flatmate was embarrassed. His voice was soft and his eyes were too and Sherlock wanted to throw up.  
He knew that he had gone too far the previous night but he was craving for more data and everything seemed to happen so damn slowly.

  
"You didn't scare me", Sherlock snapped and instantly wanted to apologize. He didn't mean to sound that harsh but John had remained silent since the movie had finished and Sherlock just couldn't figure out why. John hadn't told him to stop when he had started the cuddling but maybe he had misread things? Maybe John just did not wanted to appear impolite?

  
"What are you doing in my bedroom, anyway? Come dine with me is on", Sherlock stated and kept his eyes fixed on the doctors lips. Said doctor blushed immediately and Sherlock waited for him to say something, upset that he apparently made his doctor feel awkward.  
"I just - uh.. I wondered if you'd like to go to Angelo's."

_Oh, now THAT is interesting._

  
"Yes", Sherlock answered the moment the words had left John's mouth and his doctor beamed. The detective would have to remember that his chest itched again.

  
"With me, I mean", John quickly added and Sherlock had to laugh at the fact that John apparently thought this would make him change his mind. He wouldn't, obviously. After all, there was an experiment to finish.  
"Same answer" he replied and felt his cheeks heat up. He hid it in his pillow.

_Damnit._

"Eh, Sherlock? You okay?"  
"Yes", he answered, his face still covered in the fluffy mess of his laundry, "just... testing the fabric, you know."  
"Right", John scratched his neck, "dinner in an hour? I'll go to the bathroom, now."  
Ah, the bathroom thing again.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I.. I'm glad you said yes."

Sherlock's whole face lit up and he was glad that the pillow still covered most of it.

  
He wouldn't tell Mycroft about the way his hear skipped a beat, he thought.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock had said yes. So far so good.  
And he had hidden a blush in his pillow, quite similar to when he had tried to hide a blush at the cinema.   
So, this experiment had to be about John, after all. What on earth could it be about that it left Sherlock flustered, embarrassed even?  
John huffed and closed the bathroom door behind him. He had picked out the navy blue jumper which Sherlock had once called tolerable and his nicest trousers. He had thought about wearing his jacket but he didn't wanted to dress up too much - because Sherlock would notice.   
The doctor wasn't sure if the detective thought of this as some sort of a date, hell, John didn't even knew himself.   
All he knew was that he apparently had a massive crush on his flatmate, not to mention best friend, and that it wasn't of the kind that simply washed away after a few weeks or month.   
He should have realized it before, is wasn't as if there hadn't been signs. He should have noticed it the moment he had been completely fine with risking his life to save Sherlock's. And he was well aware that it had not taken long until this had been the case.   
Sherlock must have noticed that John was somehow attracted to him, god, even strangers jumped to their own conclusions immediately.  
But he would've told John.  
He would've told him that he was married to his work, that girlfriends - well, rather boyfriends - weren't his area and that he wasn't bothered by human emotions, let alone sexuality.

*****  
Sherlock had not dressed up for their date?shared dinner?platonic meeting?  
But, on the other hand, he always looked like he was about to meet a member of the royal family, John thought.   
He had smiled at the detective's purple shirt, though, just like Sherlock had at his jumper.  
They made their way to Angelo's in silence but it was nice. Peaceful.   
The way their steps matched and how he could hear Sherlock's steady breathing.

"Sherlock! John! What a nice surprise to have you here! Wait, I'll get you our best table", Angelo said when he caught sight of them and John was pretty sure that the table he led them to was originally reserved for another couple, which shot evil stares at both of them.

  
"Thanks, we really appreciate it, but we're perfectly fine with any other table as well", John stuttered awkwardly, "seriously, we don't need anything special, it's just a-.."  
"Date?", Angelo interrupted him an grinned, raising an eyebrow.

  
"Dinner", Sherlock blurted out, "we're just having dinner. That's not unusual. Having dinner, I mean."  
John coughed and stared at Sherlock for a second or two: "Eh. Right."  
"Sure. Now, if you just have your seats...", he pointed at their table, which was indeed lovely. And very much decorated for a date.   
There were candles and roses and stuff and John suddenly felt sick. He was glad when he could finally sit down and took a deep breath, eyeing the detective who sat down in front of him.

  
"It's the table", Sherlock eventually said and ran a finger over a napkin.  
"Yes, it's a table, Sherlock. Obvious-", it hit him right then and there, "oh."  
"Yes."  
"You mean this is the table where we sat when we came here for the very first time?"  
Sherlock simply nodded John could tell that he tried to read him again.  
He grinned at his friend.

The food was as delicious as ever and they had a nice conversation about their last case and John's patients and all in all John felt like this was going surprisingly well. This was, until Sherlock suddenly started becoming himself again.

  
"What is THAT?", John almost screamed and stared at the small something Sherlock had just pulled out of his coat pocket.  
"It's obviously a finger, John", Sherlock snored and placed it in the middle of his empty plate.  
"I'm a doctor, I know what a finger looks like but why for god's sake did you bring it here?"

  
"See, it's so interesting what this finger can tell us about the victim. It has been found in a toilet, whoever that tried to get rid of it probably forgot to flush. Shape and skin tells us that the finger belonged to a women, probably in her 50s, even though she looks older than that. It seems swollen and the nails are slightly yellow, an alcoholic or someone addicted to cigarettes. Maybe both. She was married twice but is currently living alone, since she still wears the wedding ring I'll say her husband left her, probably because of her drug addiction. She gained a lot of weight, very fast. Look at her pinkie finger, that's where she has been wearing the ring lately. See that reddening there? It's typical for -..."  
"Damnit, Sherlock!", John stared at the finger disgusted and swallowed, "I'm trying to eat here. I can't believe that you actually brought a finger to a restaurant!"  
Sherlock blinked up at him confused and tilted his head: "It does not impress you."  
"Of course it doesn't! Why should it?"  
"It usually does. Me telling you the lifestory of someone I've never met by one of their bodyparts. Why isn't it working now?"

  
John's mouth dropped open.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?

**Author's Note:**

> sooo I have this very cute idea of what Sherlock is up to and unfortunately I can't tell you because then you wouldn't have to read my story. Please comment and give me some feedback wether you want to read more of it or not.


End file.
